


the heart leaps up to behold (this golden day)

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Weddings, after the engagement fic i mean come on, the obligatory wedding fic WE ALL KNEW i was gonna write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: “It looks gorgeous on you, honey,” Lettie concurs, her face flushed with happiness.Anne studies herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her is an aloof caricature, snatched straight out of a wedding magazine. She has never seen her before in her life.She feels her lips purse. “You really think so?”“Absolutely,” Lettie declares. “It’s gotta be this one.”“Do you like it?” Charity blinks hopefully at her; Anne feels Lettie’s expectant stare, sees the eager faces of Caroline and Helen peering at her from around piles of flower girls’ dresses. She takes a deep breath, and forgets how to exhale.“It’s perfect,” she declares.





	the heart leaps up to behold (this golden day)

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: while writing this, i learned to sing the entirety of "i'm not getting married" from sondheim's Company. i'm amazed i'm still alive.

Phineas takes a bit of inappropriate glee in watching his young protégées discover that weddings are a lot more fun when you’re not trying to plan your own.

Maybe it makes him a bad person — but he’s faced _that_ moral roadblock so many times that at his point he can longjump over it. He prefers to think of it as a reward; a delightful bit of schadenfreude he can enjoy after the long-ago hassle of planning his own wedding.

(Charity had wanted roses. She hadn’t cared about anything else, but she insisted upon having roses at their wedding. Phineas was the one who wanted to give her the nearest thing to a big white wedding that he could, even given their financial restrictions. They went on a lengthy search for the perfect wedding dress; when they couldn’t find one, Phineas put his old tailoring skills to use and made her one himself. Then he found a white horse to carry them both to the courthouse, a garden to provide Charity with all the roses she could want, and paid a couple of street urchins to throw rice at them as they walked out of the courthouse. It was all, he considered in retrospect, more hassle than it needed to be; but Charity’s beaming smile made it all worth it.)

Phineas still has plenty of memories of the trying days leading up to his own wedding. Seeing Anne and Phillip go through the same thing… well, it just feels like the perfect opportunity for him to kick back and enjoy it.

“There’s a nice church down on Seventh Street,” Phillip suggests. He pauses in pacing the room just long enough to turn to Anne, eyes bright with hope. “Maybe that one?”

“No.” Anne bends over the paper in front of her, crossing another address off the list. “W.D. said that place chased him out once. They won’t let us get married there.”

Phillip purses his lips, frowning. Then he brightens. “The courthouse down on Washington Avenue —“

“I already told you, I’m not walking into a courthouse only for some pigheaded judge to take one look at us and turn us away.”

Phillip flares up, and his pacing resumes. The kid will wear tracks in the floor at this rate, but pacing is one habit Phillip will never be able to shake. (When he’s nervous, he can’t stop moving. Phineas is exactly the same way; he knows the pain.) “This is ridiculous,” Phillip snarls. “It’s legal! Interracial marriage has been legal in New York since — since —“

“Forever,” Anne contributes. “Technically.”

“There have been no laws passed against it,” Phineas adds from his place, spread out and half-upside down on Phillip’s couch. “That doesn’t mean people are happy about it.”

“Or willing to perform a marriage, even when it’s their job!” Phillip’s frustration seethes through his words. Anne’s eyes linger on him for a moment, unreadable, before she turns back to her paper.

“This is the deciding battle of a much bigger war,” Phineas tells him. “You find a minister, then you’re almost there. You won’t be married until you’ve signed on the dotted lines.”

Phillip moans. Anne, from her place at the desk, heaves a sigh that wracks her entire body.

“This is ridiculous!”

“This is hopeless.”

 _This is fun,_ thinks Phineas. “Just a little,” he confirms.

Phillip drops into the nearest chair. Anne slumps forward, her head hitting the desk with a soft thud.

For a moment, they are both silent. It would be easy to think they are defeated, but Phineas knows them both better than that. They’re too stubborn — more stubborn than him, which is saying something. They’re not about to quit.

After a few seconds, Phillip sits up straight again.

“We could try across the bay.”

“Transportation’s a hassle,” Anne retorts. She seems to consider the logistics of sailing across the bay in a wedding dress, and shudders. “Besides, I don’t know any pastors across the bay. Do you?”

“I’ve spent my life trying to know as few pastors as possible,” Phillip confesses. Phineas isn’t surprised; he can recognize a private school boy when he sees one. No doubt Phillip spent his adolescent years drowning in enough religion to tide him over for life.

Anne huffs. “Perfect.”

“Do you have a favorite pastor?”

“None that’ll marry us.”

“Then were at a dead end here!”

Phineas considers this, tilting his head back. He flips a pen in the air and catches it. “A pastor will do anything if you pay him enough money,” he declares, waving his free hand.

The potential newlyweds’ aghast expressions mirror each other.

“You wanna bribe a priest?”

_“Barnum!”_

It doesn’t take a man of the cloth to realize this is a morally-ambiguous road not worth taking. Phineas backpedals. “Kidding,” he says without conviction. Sitting up, he tosses the pen over he shoulder and rises to his feet. He feels the couples’ attention shift onto him, hopeful and hesitant. Phineas isn’t about to let them down. (He wouldn’t have spent so much time enjoying their turmoil if he didn’t have s plan all along. “Actually, I think I know just the person. Someone who’ll gladly marry you, and can do it with ease.”

“You don’t say,” Phillip murmurs. “And who might that be?”

Phineas smirks. “That, you see,” he says, “is the surprise.”

* * *

After the pastor, of course, comes the dress.

Anne isn’t a fan of dress shopping on a good day. It’s just far too much of a hassle. First, she has to find a shop willing to service her; and these shops exist, of course, but they’re mostly in one section of town, and the ones that aren’t gaudy are overpriced. Then there’s the trying on and the taking off, the sizing, the fitting… and she never seems to like herself in any of them. Give her a few good day dresses, and she’s happy. She doesn’t _need_ a new outfit for every occasion (and if she does, she can find one easily in the prop bin.)

The dress shop Charity takes her to is on the nicer side of town, but not in a place that would leave a bunch of rich swells gaping at their little party. Anne still feels ready to crawl out of her skin anyway. They’ve rented out the shop for a few hours, but one glance at the rows of fancy dresses hanging along the walls tells her this is not a place a woman like her should feel comfortable.

(It must be worse for poor Lettie, who visibly fights the urge to hide her face as they approach the shop.)

“It’s alright,” Charity encourages, taking both womens’ hands in her own and walking with them. “You’ll be very welcome here. I made sure of it.”

“This is a nice place,” Helen adds — then lets out a screech as the sparkling dresses in the window catch her eye. She and Caroline rush forward, racing each other to get to the door. Laughing, Charity follows close behind; Anne can’t help the way their joy acts as a balm to her frayed nerves.

It’s not just dress shopping. She’s been finding herself growing more and more tense in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Because it’s not _just_ dress shopping — there’s arranging the venue, finding a priest, catering, transportation, the guest list, the party afterwards, the _honeymoon…_ and after all that, she’ll be married.

It’s all just… a lot. So much. _Too_ much.

As her friends drape her in white silk and flowing skirts, Anne’s head feels like it’s buzzing. She can only think one thing: _In two weeks, I’ll be married. In two weeks, I’ll be Anne Carlyle._

The thought is overwhelming.

She will be the wife of a white man. She will be the wife of a rich man (though not so rich, anymore). She will be marrying the love of her life, but everything that comes with him as well. She will be married to the stares of judgement, the uncertainty, the lifetimes of experience that separate them…

She loves Phillip. She loves him with all her heart; more than she ever believed herself capable of loving anyone.

Yet there’s no use lying to herself anymore. She’s frightened.

“Oh,” Charity exclaims as Anne twirls in the latest ensemble they’ve picked out. The bodice is low-cut, embroidered with gems that sparkle in intricate patterns. Long sleeves stretch down her arms, ending in slender triangles at her fingers. The skirt flows out around her, a dazzling mass of tulle fabric. “This is stunning. I think it’s this one, I really think this is the one.”

“It looks gorgeous on you, honey,” Lettie concurs, her face flushed with happiness.

Anne studies herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her is an aloof caricature, snatched straight out of a wedding magazine. She is impeccable poise and posture; her dress flows off of her like a waterfall. This is a phantom, snatched from a fairy tale, and Anne has never seen her before in her life.

She feels her lips purse. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Lettie declares. “It’s gotta be this one.”

“Do you like it?”

Charity blinks hopefully at her; Anne feels Lettie’s expectant stare, sees the eager faces of Caroline and Helen peering at her from around piles of flower girls’ dresses. She takes a deep breath, and forgets how to exhale it.

“It’s perfect,” she declares.

* * *

 

Unease lingers like a serpent coiled in her stomach throughout the rest of the day.

Even while she helps Caroline pick out the perfect flower girl dress, and rescues Helen from the spiderweb of tulle she somehow got herself tangled in, Anne feels like a shadow is looming over her shoulder. They buy the dresses, and she rides back to the fair, silent beneath the rest of her party’s excited chatter. She tries to pay attention, but for the most part stares out the window. She has nothing to say.

By the time they arrive at the circus, her anxiety has built so much that she can feel its thrum inside of her; like a heartbeat, pulsing an erratic rhythm that clogs her lungs and throat. There is no way to avoid it; she can only struggle keep her head screwed on straight until she can get someplace she can breathe again.

She knows exactly where she needs to go. As soon as the party splits up, Anne heads straight for the ring.

She isn’t expecting it to be abandoned, but she’s glad to find no one else using it — the performers mentioned going on an early bar crawl, so she’s glad to find they’ve gone through with it. This leaves her time to quickly slip into her practice uniform, and bind her hands with less care than usual. By the time she slips back into the ring, her chest is so tight that she can barely breathe.

That’s when she sees him.

Phillip is standing in the center of the ring, beneath the spotlight. He’s got his hat in his hand; Anne watches as he tosses it in the air, and deftly catches it. (That’s a trick he’s been working on for a while. As soon as he got the hang of it, he was so proud that he _had_ to show her.) Smiling to himself, he places the hat back on his head, and that’s when he spots her.

As soon as their eyes lock, it feels like a rubber band snaps in her chest. The iron bars of tension melt away all at once; anxiety takes off like a flock of birds. She can _breathe_ again. A great exhale escapes her, and she could almost cry from the relief.

She’ll never understand the effect he has on her. Every time she sees his smile, she falls a little more in love.

“Hey there,” he says, and tips his hat to her. “How did the fitting go?”

She thinks back on the afternoon, and no longer feels haunted by the stranger in the mirror. Now, all she can think is how the dress looked around her, and the softness of the silk against her skin; how graceful and beautiful she felt. The princess she always dreamed of being as a child.

“I can’t tell you too much,” she replies, sauntering over to him, “but I’ll give you this: my dress is perfect.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “Am I going to faint at the top of the altar?”

“You better not. You’re not the one who’s got to walk down it; your job’s the easy one.”

“In that case, I’ll try to be strong.” He loops an arm around her waist. Anne hums in content, and leans into him.

This close, it feels as if the world is in perfect balance. She lays her head against his chest, inhaling a deep breath of him; the rich scent of his cologne, and the natural peppermint that is him fills her up, warming her from the inside out. The last murmur of anxiety fades away.

When he holds her, there is not a single doubt in her mind. This is what she dreams of. This is how she wants to spend the rest of her life.

She loves Phillip Carlyle with all her soul, and no cold feet can change that.

“I want to practice,” she murmurs after a moment, pressing the words into the crook of his neck. Phillip hums, keeping his arm around her waist.

“Then let’s,” he replies, snagging a nearby rope from the floor. He loops it easily around them both, and tugs on it for tightness. It holds. They’ve both done this enough times by now that they know how it goes.

When they are soaring through the air, entwined as one whole being, they are surrounded by all stars in the sky, and the universe falls into perfect alignment. 

* * *

 

The wedding day is the brightest day Phillip has ever seen.

* * *

 

It’s the most _aggressively cheerful_ day Anne’s ever endured.

* * *

 

The sun is high in a crystal-clear sky, and bird chirp through the wooded forest surrounding the Barnum home as if they’ve brought out their lightest songs just for this occasion. Even the air tastes sweeter, as if some invisible deity laced it with honey. It dances on Phillip’s tongue. When he opens his mouth, he is flooded with it, and can’t help grinning.

“Excited?” Lettie asks, elbowing him. Phillip shakes his head in reply.

“I’ve never been —“

* * *

 

“— more nervous in my life!”

It’s clear that poor W.D. has no idea how to handle this situation, but she really doesn’t care. He’s her older brother; it’s his _job_ to deal with her nervous breakdowns. Even if they come at the worst possible moment — like her wedding.

“This dress doesn’t fit. Why the hell doesn’t this dress my fit? Have I put on thirty pounds since last week?”

“You do stress eat,” her brother comments.

The look Anne gives him is venomous enough to kill a viper.

“If I have no dress —“ She violently holds up the bodice, squirming inside the satin waist. “This isn’t gonna work! None of this will work! I —“

* * *

 

“—- can’t get married if everything’s not perfect!” Phillip cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “At least, that’s how I used to think. But now… all of a sudden, none of that’s important anymore. I don’t care if we get everything right… what does it matter?”

Looking around, it certainly _seems_ like they’ve gotten everything right. The Barnums’ sprawling country house is all decked out for the ceremony. The garden will serve as their chapel (something Anne was hesitant about, still clinging to the idea of being married in a church, but Barnum assured her that their “genuine ordained minister” would more than make up for it). All the chairs are lined up, and the guests — the entire circus troupe — are beginning to assemble already. Phillip’s best man is Barnum, who’s nowhere to be found, and Lettie gets the auspicious title Maid of Honor.

Today is all they could wish for, and more. Everything is perfect.

“You know —“

* * *

 

“— what today is?” Anne lets the question hang in the air for a moment. Her chest is heaving, eyes wild; she looks as manic as she feels. Somehow, she still manages to talk to her brother, instead of screaming like a banshee. “A mistake! A damn… mistake! The biggest mistake of my entire life.”

“You don’t mean that,” W.D. sighs.

She rounds on him, and something in her expression must scream _I’ll murder you and leave your entrails for the birds,_ because he takes a wise step backs “No? I don’t? You sure about that?”

“Anne. Look, you gotta calm down.”

“Calm down?! How can you tell me —“

“Because I’m your brother, and I _know_ you, and I know how you’re feeling right now.” W.D. takes a deep breath; he probably wants Anne to take it with him, but her lungs turned to ice hours ago. “You’re nervous. You think that what you’re doing here is wrong somehow, because you’re scared. You’re scared of what the world is going to think of you, and maybe you’re even scared of how you feel.”

His words cut through her chest like a spear. Anne’s mouth clicks shut; for a moment she is quiet, vulnerable, as exposed as a newborn child.

“How d’you know all that?” she finally asks.

W.D. laughs, and the sight of his smile is so familiar that it serves as a balm to Anne’s raw nerves. “You told me all of it. When you were falling in love with him, remember?”

Poor W.D. did have to listen to more than a few rants on her evolving relationship with Phillip Carlyle. Anne feels her cheeks heat up, but she can’t deny the truth in her brother’s words.

“Look, I get that you’re nervous, but it’s all going to be fine. As soon as you kiss that man, you’ll be happier than you've ever been. That’s when you know you’ve made the right choice.”

W.D.’s right. Of course he’s right. Doesn’t seeing Phillip always soothe her, no matter how much anxiety she’s feeling about the future?

She slumps, exhausted. Her brother heaves a sigh and placed his hands on both her shoulders, rubbing them in that same soothing way he used to do for Mamma when she ached from working all day.

“The wedding isn’t for another half hour. Give yourself time to work through your nerves. Maybe that’s all you need.”

Slowly, Anne nods her head. A little time. Yeah, that will do her some good. All she needs is a bit of time.

“You’re right,” Anne forces herself to say, though she’s not sure she really believes it. “Everything is going to —“

* * *

 

“— be wonderful!”

Phillip declares it, grinning, and feels the truth ring in his soul. This is the first day of forever, and everything is going to be perfect — no matter what.

As long as he has Anne, nothing can make this any less than the best day of his life.

* * *

 

Anne gives herself five minutes along in her dressing room before she knows exactly what needs to be done.

There’s no question in her mind any longer. She stares into the mirror, at the beautiful woman clad in a flowing white gown, for long enough that she can almost recognize herself. She’s never looked like this in her life; she is a fairy tale come true, headed straight for the happy ending that lies on the last page of every story. She looks regal, dignified, everything she’s always wanted to be.

Then she blinks, and when she opens her eyes, a stranger stares back at her.

She startled like a scared filly and tears back, upending a footrest in her haste to get away. She tumbles back, landing hard on her hands and rear. Pain shoots up through her elbows, but there’s no time for her to register it.

She can’t do this. She can’t do any of it.

What the hell is she thinking? She can’t marry Phillip. She can’t promise herself to him forever. She can’t marry anyone, she lives at a circus and does flips in the air for a living, how is that fair — she’s not respectable — if something ever happened, she’d leave Phillip alone —

She can’t. She _can’t._

Anne flees out the door and down the long hallway. There is no one around to see her go.

* * *

 

Phineas is actually quite proud of himself, all things considered.

The cake arrived on schedule. The entire hall is decorated to the nines, no expenses spared. The orchestra is tuning up. There's even a carriage, drawn with two sleek stallions, to carry the happy couple away from their reception whenever they choose to escape tonight. Everything has strung together exactly as he planned it; as far as he’s concerned, that makes today a roaring success, and no one’s even gotten married yet.

Phineas lounges inside of the carriage, studying his house from the dirt road below. He always likes to steal a brief moment of quiet for himself before a show starts. Today’s performance is bound to be the most exciting he’s seen in quite some time.

Sure, it’s not his wedding, but there’s no doubt that this elaborate ceremony wouldn’t have been possible without his help. Phillip made that clear to him last night, during the night out that was supposed to celebrate his “last hours as a single man”.

“If it weren’t for you, Barnum, I never would have met Anne,” he told Phineas, after a few beers had turned him soft-voiced and retrospective. There was a dreamy look in his young friend’s eyes that Phineas has come to recognize, after a year of knowing him; this was Phillip Carlyle at his most natural, the way he is meant to be. Phillip lowered his flushed face, and huffed an amused half-laugh into his drink. “I certainly wouldn’t be getting married. All I can say is… thank you. Without your help, I don’t know where the two of us would be.”

Phineas can think of several outcomes for the couple far less favorable than the one they’ve got. He’s only happy that chance has been so kind to them (because all of life is, after all, one great game of roulette, where the most daring gambler claims victory). The moment he saw Phillip and Anne together, he recognized the spark between them, born to become a fire. He could see the shining future laid out ahead of them, and has done everything in his power to help them achieve it. While Charity might have been the one to organize most of this wedding ceremony, Phineas is convinced that the couple themselves are the greatest product his imagination has ever come up with.

(Which is saying something, because his imagination has done remarkable things.)

The wildest imagination on earth, however, could not have prepared him for Anne Wheeler — fully decked out in her white dress and veil, bouquet in her hands— suddenly throwing the back of the carriage open, launching herself in, and ordering him to _“Drive.”_

Phineas spins around; the shock on his face is as plain as the determination on Anne’s. “What —“

 _“Drive,_ Barnum!” Anne bellows, and fifteen years of his own marriage haven’t left Phineas a fool. He knows what it means when a woman uses _that_ tone; not doing what she says is as good as signing your own death certificate.

He kicks the carriage into gear and takes off down the road.

* * *

 

By noon, the venue is laid out, the orchestra is tuning up, the audience is filing into their pews, and the world is bright with the promise of new beginnings.

New beginnings that the bride is not around to see.

“We can’t find her!” Caroline exclaims, running straight into Lettie, who steadies her with both hands. “She’s not any rooms upstairs!”

“She’s not outside!” Helen adds as she charges in. “I even looked near the woods and she isn’t there!”

“Where’d she go?”

“She has to get married!”

Lettie turns to Charity, wide-eyed. Charity’s got a queasy look on her face; her eyes are fixed on the door, as if she expects Anne to walk in at any moment. As realization settles over the group, however, it becomes apparent that this isn’t going to happen.

A missing dress. A missing carriage. A missing bride.

The wedding begins in fifteen minutes, and it seems like Anne won’t get to see it.

* * *

 

W.D. Wheeler is a simple man.

He appreciates the big fancy wedding, but doesn’t think he wants to have one himself. It all seems like a lot of hassle, a lot of stress — and for what? The satisfaction of knowing the Lord and 200 people witnessed you tie the knot? No thanks. Give W.D. the girl of his dreams and a courthouse, any day. If his fiancée should ever want a big wedding, he'll do it, of course, but W.D’s own tastes run much less extravagant. He doesn't want to deal with the whole Wedding Day Panic.

And W.D. really, really doesn’t want to deal with _this._

“Where is she?” Phillip runs a hand through his hair, messing up the gelled coif it took him half an hour to perfect. He's sweating through his tux, even though his face is as white as the clouds in the sky. It's a miracle he hasn't worn tracks in the gravel with how ferociously he's pacing over it.

The groom is a bundle of nerves and barely-contained panic. Just _watching_ him makes W.D. exhausted.

“Relax,” he certainly does not plead. “She'll show up. You know she will.”

“I don’t know that. I don’t. I want to know that, I want to believe that she’s going to be here, but she’s — not. She’s not, W.D! She’s just gone! So how can I believe that she’s coming back when she’s not even here?”

W.D. sighs, watching Phillip’s hands flit about his face. If he gets any more animated, he’s going to go someone in the face. He’s so wound up that W.D.’s not sure he’d even notice.

“Calm down,” he bids his future brother-in-law. “We just have to wait a minute. She’s _coming back.”_

If his sister doesn’t get her butt back to this church, he is going to find her, pick her up, and carry her back himself. Kicking and screaming. Sure, the disappearing act is cruel to Phillip, but it’s even crueler to _him._

In retrospect, this might be somewhat his fault. He told Anne to take some time for herself; he didn’t think she’d actually run away from the ceremony.

Then again, he should have seen it coming. Like he said point-blank to Anne’s face: he knows his sister.

W.D. has taken care of Anne all their lives; he knows his sister. She's tougher than hell, and brave as a lion, but Anne has always been fiercely edited to her own defense. She knows what it's like to be hurt, and refused to allow herself to be vulnerable; and when she finds herself in that position anyway, it scares her. It _terrifies_ her. When she's scared, her first instinct is to run away.

Anne will come back. She always does. She'll fight her way through the storm inside her, think everything straight in her head, and then she’ll return.

The only question is whether she'll make it back _too late._

* * *

 

They've ridden halfway into the city before Phineas finally asks the all-important question.

“So, where are we headed?”

The runaway bride in the back of his carriage looks startled by the inquiry. She picks her head up out of her hands, blinking at him dully, as if English is a language she's forgotten how to understand. When she shakes her head, her entire body seems to move with it.

“I don't know.” She takes a deep breath. “I don't _know.”_

He figured as much, but this is still not what Phineas wants to hear. “A timely decision would be a good idea,” he replies. “We’re almost to New York.”

“No,” Anne says at once. “I don't wanna go to New York.”

“And yet, we're getting dangerously close.”

The carriage charges on down the road for another moment (Phineas slows the horses for Anne’s benefit). The beleaguered bride buried her face in her hands and stays there for a moment, utterly silent, before groaning.

“What am I _doing,_ Barnum?”

“That's a great question, since I'm the one driving you there,” he replies. “But only one of us can answer that, and we both know its not me.”

Anne’s foot connects with the back of Phineas’s seat. It’s a gesture born of frustration, not malice, but Phineas sure doesn’t appreciate it. Before he can say a word, however, Anne is leaning up into the front of the car.

“Pull over,” she says, breathless. “Just… pull over.”

Phineas does so. There are a thousand reasons to argue with Anne right now. (Because she isn’t just running away from her own wedding, but the wedding Phineas contributed a lot of time, money, and special effects towards. He plans to have a fire cannon at the afterparty. Does she have any idea how much pyrotechnics cost these days?) To pick a single one of them, however, seems needlessly cruel — and reckless on Phineas’s part — so he stays silent.

As soon as the carriage draws to a stop on the side of the road, Anne leaps out. After a few seconds’ pause, Phineas follows.

He finds her pacing back and forth in the grass by the side of the road. The hem of her dress is dragging along the ground; twigs and dirt catch in the intricate lace hem, and he can only imagine Charity’s horror later when she sees what’s become of “that beautiful bridal gown”. At the moment, the bride herself doesn’t seem to care.

“This is crazy,” she declares, waving her hands around her head. “It’s all so crazy. What am I doing? I can’t get married! This is illegal in half the country, and people are going to hate us for it, more than they already do, and Phillip will never be able to understand, and if he marries me then he’ll always be an outcast, and —“ She cuts herself off, inhaling a desperate gasp for air. Her eyes widen as she holds it, caught in her chest like an inflated balloon.

Phineas crosses his arms. “You’re afraid.”

Anne’s pacing draws to an abrupt stop. She turns on her heel to face him. Surprise is etched across her face; as if the idea of Phineas understanding her own emotions better than she is something that never even occurred to her. Her lips mouth the word for a moment, almost in reverence. Then the balloon in her chest deflates; she slumps, all at once, a marionette with severed strings.

In a small, tired voice, she asks, “How do I stop being afraid?”

“You don’t,” Phineas replies, shrugging. It’s a question he asked himself a dozen times before marrying Charity; he learned the hard way that there’s no right answer. He can only console Anne with what he learned for himself. “This is just the way it is —when you’re determined to have something better than what the world gave you. There’s always going to be a part of you that’s convinced it’s just a dream. You’ll turn your head for one second, and the happiness will all just blow away — like it never existed at all. You’re always going to be fighting for it. You’ll always be trying to prove that you’re worth the life you’ve got. Prove it to other people, yeah, but also prove it to yourself.

Anne’s lips press into a tight line. Her head drops, eyes drawn almost magnetically to the ground.

“Here’s the question: do you want it?”

“Do I _want_ to spend my life feeling like I’ve got happiness I don’t deserve?” She says to the ground, brows furrowed low. “Happiness other people will never approve of?”

“How much do you want to make them approve?”

“I don’t,” she answers — prompt as a period at the end of a sentence. She doesn’t have to ask herself this; she knows it already. Phineas’s lips stretch into a grin smile.

“Then you’ll spend your whole life proving to _yourself_ that you deserve it.” 

The path is not simple. There is nothing easy about constantly working to feel like you’ve earned the life you lead. It isn’t pretty; it isn’t a fairytale ending. But for Anne (and for him), it will be the reality they’ve chosen to accept.

 _If_ she chooses it.

The same question dances on the forefront of Anne’s mind. She grits her teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. When she opens them again, they gleam with unshed tears. “What should I do, Barnum?”

This is a choice Anne has to make on her own. He can give her no answers. “You should answer the question.”

_“What question?”_

“Do you want a life with Phillip Carlyle?”

The words pierce her armor like a bullet. Phineas sees the last of Anne’s defenses slip off and shatter into the grass. She is left wide eyed, bare, holding the very question of her future in her hands.

Anne inhales, and breathes it out in a shuddering rush. The moment the truth comes to her, a subtle tension flees from her face. “Yes, I do,” she says. “More than anything. I’m never happier than when I’m with him. I’ve never felt more free. I feel like I could be happy with him forever... and I want to be.” A slow smile unfurls across her face; it is as bright as the gentle sun that beats down upon their heads. Anne tips her face up towards it, and lets out a trill of laughter. “I want it more than anything else in the world.”

Phineas says nothing; there is nothing left to say. Instead, without a word, he turns back to the carriage, hoisting himself up again.

“What — what are you doing?” Anne shouts out. Phineas looks down on her and grins.

“We’d better get you back to the church,” he tells her. “It’d be a shame to miss your own wedding.”

Anne’s eyes lock with his, and something liquid and uncertain solidifies within them. He sees the moment her decision becomes concrete, because she _smiles,_ like this is the first and best day of her entire life.

Without another word, she pulls herself into the carriage and slams the door behind her.

* * *

 

Phillip never imagined his wedding would be a disaster. An hour ago, he would have called it impossible; after all, he had everything he could want. Their venue was perfect, the ceremony was like a dream, and all the people they cared about were here. An hour ago, it seemed like nothing in the world could happen to ruin this day.

Now, Phillip realizes he was a fool.

The only thing that keeps him rooted to his spot at the top of the aisle are the fifty pairs of eyes fixed on him. The entire circus is gathered here; his colleagues, his friends. All here to witness the worst moment of Phillip’s life.

He doesn’t know why he still standing here. They should call it off. They _need_ to call the wedding off. There’s no pastor, and no _bride._

He needs a bride if he wants to get married. He needs Anne to be standing in front of him right now, to dispel this entire nightmare with a smile and the soft touch of her hands in his.

(Where is she? Is she alright? Has she run off somewhere, as panicked and humiliated as Phillip feels standing at the top of this aisle? Is Anne okay — and if she is, where on earth is she?)

At the back of the hall, W.D. slips through the doors. He catches Phillip’s eye and gives him a thumbs-up. Phillip’s heart plunged into his throat. What does a thumbs-up mean?

The orchestra begins to play. Slow, drawn out strains of melody echo through the hall, silencing the audience’s low whispers. At once, a hush takes over the room. It can not drown out the frenetic drumbeat of Phillip’s heart, but the effort is an admirable one.

No bride; no pastor; and the wedding ceremony has begun.

The bridesmaids start down the aisle first. There’s Charity, Mary, Florence, and Crystal, all dressed to the nines in flowing pink gowns. They’re wearing Anne’s favorite color. He imagines the delight that must have been on her face when she picked them out, and it almost conjures a smile to his lips. Just seeing them makes her absences all the more painful, like a hole in the middle of his chest.

Next, the groomsmen (Constantine, Charles, and Jeremy). Then, the Maid of Honor; Lettie looks glorious, and flashed Phillip a wink as she approaches him. He can not, for the life of him, make sense of it. Why isn’t everyone as panicked as he is?

Now it’s P.T.’s turn; but the top of the aisle is bare. His best man does not make an appearance, even as the strains of music play on to fill his absence. Phillip feels like he’s going to faint.

Caroline and Helen skip down the aisle. Caroline bears the rings on their pillow with characteristic solemnity; Helen, on the other hand, tosses pink and purple flower petals about like it’s circus confetti. Phillip is sure she decorates the audience more than the actual aisle.

And then, at the top of the procession, a figure in white steps through the doors. Phillip’s heart freezes.

Anne is radiant. There is no other word to describe her. The sight of his bride in her flowing dress, bouquet held to her chest in a gentle-handed grip, utterly floors him. Suddenly, the room is spinning around him. Phillip’s vision slips, narrows, tunnels in on the only thing that exists in the world. _Anne._ His Anne, the women he loves, heading down the aisle towards him.

_She came back._

Her arm is looped through her brother’s. Together, she and W.D. stroll down the aisle. They sure are taking their time; every second stretches into an hour, and Phillip can count their steps in the spaces between his heartbeats. The world around him reels, but he focuses in on Anne. All of a sudden, everything is real.

After an eternity, still too soon, they reach the top of the aisle. W.D. claps Phillip on the shoulder and nods; then, he steps out of view. The only thing Phillip can see is Anne.

He lifts her veil, and she tilts her head up at him. Her smile is blinding.

“You’re here,” is the only thing he can say. Anne exhales, and what could be a laugh or a sob follows close behind.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I am.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today —“

Phillip spins on his heel, almost scared into finally letting his heart jump out of his throat. In no way was he prepared to find Phineas Taylor Barnum, standing at the head of the aisle with a book in hand. In a way, he ought to have been expecting it. After Anne’s appearance, nothing should take him aback.

Of _course_ Barnum is an ordained minister in the state of Connecticut. Of course he is. He’s _Barnum._

Barnum runs through the vows, but Phillip hears none of them. His entire world is centered in on Anne. She takes up every thought, every touch, every breath. In this moment, she is everything; and she will be his everything for the rest of their lives.

He can’t tear his gaze away from her. Anne’s own eyes, dark and gleaming, are locked on his own. Her lower lip trembles once, but she locks it in place, stubborn as always. Anne will never allow herself to cry during the happiest moment of their lives, and Phillip couldn’t live her any more for it.

He’s only aware of what he has to say when Anne gives his hand a sudden, tight squeeze. The words flow from his lips. “I do.”

The grin that splits Anne’s face is the brightest thing he’s ever seen; for a moment, he is blinded by it.

“I do,” she says, and the last piece of the puzzle slips into place. The world slips back into alignment. All at once, everything he could ask for is at his fingertips. The galaxies are bright and limitless before them, stretching out in all directions. He feels himself reaching out, and knows Anne is right by his side, reaching too.

He does not hear Barnum pronounce them man and wife. He only hears the sweeping chorus of his own heart as he leans in, lips already searching out Anne’s own a second before he finds them.

This moment is everything he’s ever dreamed of, and more. Anne’s lips are his own personal heaven, and he could not imagine bliss anywhere else.

When they pull away, neither can part from one another. She keeps her arms looped around his shoulders; he holds her waist. For a moment, they are dead to the raucous cheers around them, completely lost in one another.

“I love you more than anything,” Anne whispers; then, leaning in to press the words against his lips, “I’ve never been happier.”

Phillip echoes her thought with his own mouth. For a moment, they are soaring through star-filled forever all over again. Their stomachs swoop; Phillip feels delirious with joy. In this moment, everything is possible.

When they finally pull away, Anne’s hand is on his arm, real and solid. He knows without a doubt that he will never have to fear losing her again.

* * *

 

In her heart, Anne is certain of a thousand things, but one stands out above the rest:

She will never run away again.


End file.
